


Bad Influences

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim starts to doubt he's as good for his guide as his guide is for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Influences

First published in _Sentry Post 8_ (2003)

 

It’s hard not to eavesdrop when you’re a Sentinel.

The exercise was automatic now, an instinctive stretching of his senses to catch the first signs of his Guide’s presence when he was going to meet Sandburg. It was as unconscious as scanning a crowd for a face…only from hundreds of feet, sometimes several floors away. In Jim’s case, it was scent he was looking for, a sense he relied on far more than even Blair knew, and sound, Sandburg’s enthusiastic voice and, as Jim got closer, the familiar heartbeat. Blair did know about that but uncharacteristically hadn’t asked further, perhaps embarrassed at the intimacy. Jim wasn’t. Anything that helped him keep track of his hyperactive Guide was a useful tool in his book.

And so he’d naturally cast out his aural net as he’d strode down the hallway, heading toward the anthropologist’s office. They were supposed to meet for lunch and go through the developments of Jim’s morning, both Sentinel and law enforcement, that Blair hadn’t been able to be there for. After nearly three years together, Jim could solo indefinitely when needed, and Blair had finally started putting school first again, with Ellison’s open approval. The younger man had given up enough as it was. But it hadn’t lessened the sense of partnership between them, or Jim’s desire to share the day-to-day stuff. It wasn’t something he’d have talked about, but he relied on Blair’s insight and input. 

There were a lot of voices in the building to sort through, and Jim also did that unconsciously, tuned to the one he’d heard so often before. And…there it was.

“…this coming from, guys? You’ve met Jim—you even came to that party he threw for me for my birthday. He’s a little stiff at first, but he’s a good guy if you get to know him.”

Jim felt both a rush of warmth and a twinge of annoyance at the words— _stiff_? Then again, the first time he’d met Blair, he had thrown him up against the wall, a fact Sandburg rarely let him forget. And then there were the loft rules, and his general wariness about strangers, but so what? He was just neat and cautious, two things no one could accuse Blair of. 

It was a little harder to tune into the answering voice, but he listened for one that spoke up just as Blair stopped and sounded about as far away. Okay, he was eavesdropping, but Sandburg defending him had made him curious. 

“We’re not saying he’s a bad guy, Blair”—the voice spoke up insistently, young and female--“but…don’t you think he’s kinda unpleasant sometimes? I mean, I’ve heard him talk to you like you’re, well, below him or something. You don’t deserve that.” 

Jim stopped in the middle of the hallway, frowning, oblivious to the stream of students that had to go around him on either side or the dark glances he got as a result. Unpleasant? _Below_ him? 

Another voice, this one male and softly bass. “It’s not just that. It’s your life, man, and you’ve got a right to live it any way and with anyone you want. We don’t wanna mess with that. We’ve just noticed that you’ve changed a lot since you’ve been working with Ellison, you know? You don’t look like you’re having fun anymore, like you used to.”

“And then there’s all the sick leave you’ve had—half the time you look like you’ve been beaten up, Blair,” the girl chimed in again. 

“It’s just gotten pretty obvious to everyone and…we just wanted to know if everything was, you know, okay?” The guy again. There only seemed to be the two of them. Jim noted it like the cop he was, along with the timbre of the voices and the age and sex of the speakers. But it was the words he was paying attention to, what they said ringing in his ears and in his mind. The sick leave, the bruised appearances: Jim couldn’t deny it even if he’d never consciously considered it before. But changing, no longer having fun—is that what others saw in Blair? And they thought it was because of Jim, because of how he treated him? 

“Guys…” Sandburg sounded almost as taken aback as Jim felt. And…very weary. “I appreciate the whole intervention thing—it’s nice to have friends who worry about you. But I’m fine. This isn’t a low-risk research project I’m doing—I knew that going in. And Jim…Jim’s been awesome.” His voice had gotten harder. “You have no idea how much that ‘unpleasant’ cop has done for me, not to mention how many times he’s saved my life.” 

The girl’s voice, very small. “How many times did your life used to need saving before?”

She was right. Jim was stung at the open statement even though he’d been unexpectedly touched by Sandburg’s defense. Strange, to feel so relieved and troubled at the same time. 

Blair was suddenly brisk, and there were sounds of movement. “Nat, I’m not going to argue about this. Thanks for the concern, but I’m good. Just ‘cause I’m not wired all the time anymore doesn’t mean I’m not happy. Actually, I’m better than I have been for a long time. And Jim’s a good friend, so…I really don’t want to be listening to this.”

More sounds of movement, a door opening, and Jim’s hearing connected with the sight down the hall of two people stepping out of what he knew to be Blair’s office. They were both familiar—Blair had said they’d been at the loft before, and anger flared briefly that two people who’d been guests in his home would try to turn his Guide against him. But it deflated just as quickly at the undeniable truth of what they’d said. Beneath him. Did he really come across that way to others? To Sandburg? And unpleasant? And recklessly endangering his civilian partner?

The girl—Nat—turned in the doorway and offered Blair a peck on the cheek and an apologetic, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to get you upset. We’re just concerned.”

“I know.” Blair’s tone had relented. “And…I’m grateful. But there’s nothing to worry about—I’m okay.” 

The two kids, probably fellow grad students, left without another word, but it wasn’t hard to tell they were not fully convinced, or reassured. Jim sucked in a breath, his earlier good mood evaporated and a strong desire taking hold to return to the office and call Blair to say he couldn’t make it. 

But it was too late. Standing in the doorway and watching his friends leave, Sandburg caught sight of Jim, and his face, shadowed and unhappy, lightened in a sudden grin. “Jim! I’ll be ready in a sec.” He disappeared back into his office. 

Jim crossed the remaining stretch of hallway and stopped by the doorway, to all appearances casually waiting. Blair’s obvious pleasure at seeing him should have dispelled the unpleasant overheard conversation, but it wasn’t as easy as that. Clearly, there had been changes in the anthropologist student, changes that weren’t for the better and that Ellison had been oblivious to, but that others saw clearly. And if Jim made the effort to compare the kid he’d slammed against the wall years before to the one he was about to share a meal with, he could see them, too: a more subdued manner, a quieter tone, eyes that had changed from sparkling to serious. Not to mention those frequent hospital visits. Was that the cost of being his partner?

The fact that Blair didn’t see it that way was only superficial balm. Long-term victims often weren’t aware they were being victimized. Not that Jim had in any way deliberately hurt his friend, but…as much as his Guide was doing for him, what if he was, in turn, hurting his Guide?

“I’m set.” Blair appeared in the doorway, hefting a sizeable bookbag onto his shoulder. He was smiling, clearly anticipating their lunch together, even as Jim lost any taste for either the meal or the company. The last thing he wanted to do was look his partner in the eye again after what he’d just heard. But there was no recourse, no other option short of confronting Blair about what he thought, and Jim wasn’t ready to do that. He was actually afraid of what the answer might be.

Then again, Blair had already answered the question, hadn’t he? He’d told his friends he was fine and he was happy, and from the way he was enthusiastically explaining a new Sentinel resource he’d come across, he certainly looked it, too. And Jim knew his partner well enough to know if something was bothering him. 

But obviously not well enough to realize something was different about him. 

Blair also knew him, too well, and would soon notice he was troubled, and so Jim reluctantly put his reservations aside and took up the conversation.

He didn’t forget, though, and kept watching. It was only as the days rolled on with no sign of unhappiness or unusual sobriety in Sandburg, that Jim started to think maybe the kids had just been over-anxious friends. He’d had some like that, who’d tried too hard after Caroline left him. They thought something should be wrong, and so they’d made him feel like it was. 

And he hadn’t even been in the hospital every few months after his divorce.

It was more talking himself out of it than genuine reassurance, but Jim finally dropped the concern and went on with life. With the partner he couldn’t see being without anymore. 

 

You rode everyday on the streets, tense with the anticipation of trouble, and yet when it came, you were never really ready for it. 

Especially when it involved your partner getting hurt.

Police partners were unofficially given the same rights as parents or spouses, including tacit permission to stay with the wounded as long as possible during transport and arrival at the hospital. Jim wasn’t even conscious of the special privilege, intent only on being with Sandburg as long as he was needed. Which, judging from the kid’s pinched and gray face, would be until they put him under. 

For now, though, he walked along with the gurney, Blair’s hand wrapped around his with pained intensity. The hand was as badly scraped up as the rest of his left side, one finger clearly cracked, evidence of how hard he’d come down on asphalt. It hadn’t stopped him from grabbing hold of Jim, though, or hanging on as if Ellison’s being there had the power to make it all better. Jim wished to God it did. It was lucky the kid hadn’t rolled, tearing himself up even more when he’d hit the ground, but he still had to be in agony. His eyes were full of it, as was his grip, and he’d cried silent tears the whole way in. Jim had seen seasoned cops scream their way to the hospital for less, and would have admired Blair’s self-control if he hadn’t been so torn up by how much control was needed. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he said softly for at least the sixth time, knowing it would, eventually, but not wanting either of them to dwell on just how much longer that would be. He insistently rubbed the web between the thumb and forefinger, then up the thumb, the only uninjured part of the back of Blair’s hand; it was a trick Sandburg had taught him. Distract the senses by providing other sensory input for it to concentrate on. He knew the pain was too much to fully distract from, but at least it was something. 

Blair hadn’t said anything since they’d left the scene, but even as his eyes fluttered to the different faces around him and the changing view above, he kept returning to Jim, finding him unerringly amidst the confusion. Not hard—he was usually where his hand was, Jim thought whimsically—but even with the painkillers they’d given Blair in the ambulance starting to take effect, the focused intensity with which he stared at Ellison hadn’t dimmed. Jim was impressed. So much about Blair Sandburg impressed him. Had he ever told the man that?

“Hang on, buddy, we’re almost there.” A glance showed they were nearly inside the ER, and that would mean parting. They’d let him stay for what he could, but the medic part of Jim had already recognized the need for x-rays and other tests that would require him to sit outside and wait. 

Blair seemed to know it, too, his grip almost crushing now. It had to hurt, flexing injured skin and muscle like that, but then, Jim knew some needs superceded even the instinctual escape of pain. Like the desire not to be afraid or alone. He gently grasped back. At least he could promise he wouldn’t be leaving altogether, staying close by.

They reached the emergency room, and Jim helped them efficiently lift his partner onto a waiting exam table in one corner. Blair choked a single sound—apparently the painkillers hadn’t kicked in as much as Jim had hoped—and threatened to break Jim’s hand. He didn’t pull away, giving the student a half-grin instead. 

“Hey, on the way in, I saw that pretty nurse you like—Trina? Looks like you’re gonna get some TLC in here.” 

The blue eyes were getting sleepy, but they were still too aware, too bright as they stared at him, took a panicked swoop around the emergency room, then returned to him even more frightened.

Jim’s smile disappeared and he leaned close enough to whisper and be heard, far enough that Blair could still see him without turning his head. “Listen to me, Chief. You’re gonna be okay, I promise. I checked you out, remember? They’re going to prod for a little bit, do some x-rays, and then give you something to let you sleep. No surgery, got it? Just take it easy—everything’s gonna be okay. I’ll be right here until you wake up.”

He was sure of ninety percent of that, but needed Blair to believe all of it and relax. And he did…at Ellison’s last line. Jim resisted the urge to close his eyes and bow his head under the weight of such trust. It was much like the faith he saw in the eyes of victims, trusting him to fix the impossible. Except, Sandburg knew him, knew who he was and that he didn’t do miracles, and believed in him anyway. He simply took strength and comfort from Jim being there. 

They’d cut the grad student’s clothes off in the ambulance and covered his injuries with sterile dressings, which were removed now for examination of his injuries. In the bright lights of the E.R., they looked even worse, torn and abraded skin down the length of his torso and leg and part of his shoulder and arm. The face, incredibly, had gone the most unscathed, cheekbone and forehead only skinned, blood dripping from a gash behind his ear. They probably wouldn’t even leave scars. And while he’d fallen hard on his side, Jim had detected no worse internal damage than some cracked and bruised ribs, already swelling. There would be considerable pain for a while, and probably a lot of drugs to keep him unaware of it, but Sandburg would not only live but recover. To loss-weary Jim Ellison, that was pretty darn miraculous.

He turned back to Blair with a smile, which softened at the sight of his now-heavily blinking partner. Good. He’d really hoped the kid would be under by the time they took him away. Neither of them were up to being forcibly separated. 

Blair wasn’t the only one who felt better when his partner was close by.

“Sleep, Junior. I’ve got it under control.” 

Sandburg’s eyes dropped shut and didn’t open again. His grasp only eased a little.

Jim waited another minute, his smile fading by degrees, then gently pried his hand free, shaking it absently to restore circulation. Blair didn’t stir, completely under. 

Telling himself the same thing he’d told his partner, that he’d be back soon, Jim nodded to the doctor and went out to make some phone calls. 

Simon would already have been notified and would no doubt be in soon; he always showed up when one his men landed there, and Blair had long ago become one of that elite group. He’d done it the shorter and, in some respects, harder way, and it wasn’t official, but as far as all the officers in Major Crimes were concerned now, Blair was one of their own. 

Which meant the only calls Jim really had to make were to the school and to Naomi. He dreaded both. He’d called the school so many times, he had the number memorized, and they started worrying the moment they heard his voice. But they didn’t seem very surprised. Jim knew it should bother him that they half-expected one of their TA’s to regularly end up in the hospital, but he was still on an adrenaline wave of fear ebbing into relief and was just grateful to get through the phone call. And to not reach Naomi on her cell phone, merely leaving her a message that Blair had been hurt but was expected to be just fine. She’d gotten a phone after Blair had been dosed with Golden and for a while they hadn’t known if he’d live or die, with Naomi nowhere to be found. As much as she loved her freedom, she also loved her child, and Jim had to respect her for that. Even if he managed to circumvent what her recent need for a cell phone implied. 

He implicated himself enough already. 

Jim leaned against the wall by the phone, lost in thought, perhaps even zoning a little, until the doctor found him and gave him the results of the tests. Then, with a weary sigh, Jim pushed himself upright and went to pass on the news. 

It was amazing how quickly word had spread. Already several Major Crimes detectives and even two uniformed officers had congregated with Simon in the designated waiting room, along with several unmistakable students. They all looked up at Jim’s entrance with identical expressions of hope and worry, and Jim instantly smiled, if more tiredly than he’d wanted to.

“He’s gonna be fine. No serious internal damage, no severe head injuries, just a bad case of road rash and some cracked ribs and fingers. They’re gonna keep him here for a while, bandaged and sedated so they can manage the pain and keep an eye on how he’s healing, and he may need some skin grafts for his hip, but he’s not in any danger and he’s going to be _fine_.” 

The quiet was broken by a half-dozen sudden conversations. The cops and detectives looked immensely relieved, even pleased, while Simon tried to appear as if it was exactly the news he’d expected and he hadn’t been worried. And the students…the students’ expressions were an odd mixture of joy and frank hostility. The former clearly for Blair, and the latter just as clearly directed at Ellison. 

And even as Jim turned away to go find Blair, both wanting and needing to be with his injured Guide, the almost-forgotten unease of the previous week quietly settled in his stomach again. 

 

He promised he’d stay with Blair until the grad student woke up, but that was turning out to be a harder promise to keep than he’d expected. 

For one thing, there was the fact that Sandburg was sedated and, even when he roused, not truly aware. More times than Jim could count, the dilated blue eyes had drifted open, taking in the room in an uncomprehending stare, heartbeat sluggishly speeding up. Jim always patted his good hand then, saying something soothing until Blair’s gaze wandered over to him. Then the heartbeat slowed again, and he was fully under once more. There was no question Ellison was recognized, and if he was able to be of comfort, no matter how subconscious, he intended to stay until the younger man truly woke up.

The other obstacle was far greater, and completely unexpected. 

It was a day later, and Jim sat in a bedside chair rubbing gritty eyes. He’d slept some during the night in that chair that was decidedly not made for sleeping, but he’d stayed tuned to his Guide’s heartbeat and whenever Blair stirred, he had, too. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d miss a night’s sleep, though, and it wouldn’t be the last. As Jim continued down to rub at his stubbled chin, his one real regret was that he hadn’t been able to shave. The thought had crossed his mind to borrow some intern’s supplies, but using something Sandburg hadn’t vetted out first was always a risk. The last thing they needed was his senses going rogue because of a new brand of shaving cream. 

He was still considering the ramifications when the door opened and Naomi Sandburg rushed in. 

She was, frankly, a surprise. From previous experience, Jim hadn’t expected her to get the message he’d left for some time, let alone respond to it so quickly. When Blair had been shot in the leg in the Cascade wilds, it was nearly two weeks later before his mother had shown up to see how he was doing. Not that she didn’t care, Jim was sure of that, it was just that Naomi…well, lived her own life. And sometimes, when Jim was feeling less charitable, he thought she considered that more important than her own son. 

But not that day. This Naomi who had rushed to be at her injured child’s bedside had a face full of worry and eyes that were near overflowing. She ignored Jim as she hurried to the opposite side of Blair’s bed, the left side where the bandages showed starkly, and, with trembling fingers, touched his face. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. 

There was no response, just as Jim would have expected, and he opened his mouth to explain the cycle of half-waking and unconsciousness. 

Naomi looked up at him for the first time, her eyes piercing. “Why are you here, Jim?” she asked softly. Flatly. 

Naomi never was flat. 

He almost stumbled over his first words, taken aback. Why was he there, not, how was Blair doing, or what had happened? “I promised him I’d stay. He was a little shaken up when we came in.” Okay, a little was an understatement and then there was how much pain Blair had been in, but Naomi didn’t look like she needed to hear that just then. 

“I thought maybe you were feeling guilty,” she said wryly, her eyes back on her injured son. 

Jim stirred at that, sitting up straighter. “Guilty?” he repeated, pretending more confusion than he felt. He had an idea which way this was going and he didn’t like it. 

“For putting him in these situations where he gets hurt.” She said it so matter-of-factly. Her hand continued to stroke Blair’s curls as she glanced up at Jim. “Since he’s been with you, my son’s been shot, kidnapped, drugged, concussed, and probably a lot more I don’t even know about. How many twenty-eight-year-olds do you think that’s happened to?”

“He’s twenty-nine, Naomi,” he said quietly. 

Naomi Sandburg didn’t fluster easily. “I was the one who gave birth to him, Jim. I’ve known him all his life. Blair is a very loyal person and he feels some kind of responsibility to you—I hear that. But he won’t stop until it kills him.” She was blinking back tears again, less belligerent now, more just a frightened mother. 

Jim winced helplessly. Naomi Sandburg was one of the few people he’d met whom he was unable to either predict or control. Blair was usually the one who dealt with her, Jim just along for the ride. “I do everything in my power to protect him—” he finally began. 

“I know you do, Jim. You love him, too. But that’s just not enough.” Now as she looked at her son, Jim had the impression she was avoiding his gaze. “This isn’t the life for him—he gets hurt too easily, and you can’t protect him from everything.”

He wanted to explain to her that it wasn’t like that at all; Blair wasn’t some fragile kid Jim had to safekeep all the time. The anthropologist held his own admirably in a world he hadn’t been trained for, sometimes being the one who kept Jim safe. As far as Jim knew, it was just one more new culture he had successfully assimilated himself into, for the sake of his Sentinel. But Naomi didn’t know that part. 

Naomi was shaking her head. “Look at him now. My baby… The doctor said he’ll be in a lot of pain for a while, and he’ll have scars. Isn’t this proof enough that you can’t keep him safe, that he doesn’t belong here?” Her eyes were as sharp as her son’s could be, but without the deep well of empathy behind them. 

He had totally lost control of the conversation. Jim tried one last time. “Naomi, I understand you’re upset. I don’t like seeing him like this, either. But Blair has to make his own choices. I respect him enough to let him do that—I don’t make him stay.” Once, he might have been desperate enough to try to manipulate Sandburg into staying. Or, when the younger man had been considering going on an extended research project, Ellison had been prepared to cut him off, pretend he was no longer important so Jim could convince himself of the same. But a fountain, and seeing the lifeless body of his Guide, had changed all that. They’d both made their choices, and he trusted Blair’s. Even if it was damnably obvious it had put Sandburg in the hospital, hurt, yet again. 

Naomi’s answer was soft. “You don’t have to. He’ll stay until it kills him.” And there was anger in her expression again. Jim wasn’t sure who it was directed at, him or Blair’s stubbornness. Probably both. 

The ironic thing was, she was right without even knowing it. Blair’s loyalty _had_ already killed him once. 

Naomi was taking the shawl from around her shoulders, her manner brisk now. “Jim, would you leave us alone please for a while? I’d like to be with my son.” 

He had no wish to fight her or defend himself, and no good argument to do so, anyway. The fact of the matter was that she was right, at least about the danger and her son’s loyalty. What she didn’t give Blair credit for was that he knew all that and had made his choice anyway. And what had happened the day before hadn’t been Jim’s fault, or even the job’s. It had just been a fluke. But a worried mother wasn’t going to listen to that. 

Jim stood, stiff joints cracking at the movement. Already it was as if he weren’t there, Naomi bent over the bed, talking softly to Blair, her hand moving from his cheek to his chest as if she were trying to reach him even in unconsciousness. He’d never questioned her love for Blair, only how she showed it sometimes. Pushing her son to make the decisions she wanted wasn’t respect born from love. 

Then again, wasn’t that somewhat hypocritical? Had _he_ ever truly given Sandburg the option of leaving without laying his own guilt trips and wants and needs on the kid? He hadn’t told Blair flat-out he should stay, as Naomi had just the opposite, but how much had he really let him make his own choice? 

It wasn’t his fault Blair was lying in that hospital bed. It wasn’t even necessarily his fault the kid faced so much danger. But Jim had certainly played a part in it. And—what had Sandburg’s friends said? That he was unpleasant and condescending as he did it, too? What the heck kind of choice was that? 

Jim squashed the urge to stay and the reminder of the promise he made, and strode out of the hospital room without a glance back. 

He was suddenly feeling unwell, himself.

 

There were few things that sucked as much as being stuck in bed days on end. Being fed hospital food for the duration was one, although it beat the IV by a slim margin. Bedpans were a definite other. And the pain was…not fun. It was manageable when he lay perfectly still, but every movement stretched torn, healing skin and painful ribs and left him sweating and miserable. Well, even more miserable than he already was. And the bandage changing was an excruciating process that made unconsciousness seem heavenly. In all, there were a few million other situations in which Blair would rather have been, including a root canal and one of Professor Harlow’s exams. 

But one of the things Blair hated most was being out of the loop. Not just not knowing what was going on, but not even being able to find out. Only Naomi and Simon had come to see him so far, but every time he asked one of them where Jim was, all he got was changes of subject and obfuscations. None of the messages he’d left at the loft or on Jim’s cellphone had been returned, either. Ellison had been there earlier, he was sure of that; even though he couldn’t remember details, the impression, the safety of his Sentinel’s presence was unmistakable. So, what, he’d lost interest once Blair was okay? Or something had happened to him since? Blair had finally raised that possibility to Simon in a hesitant voice, only to get a horrified look in response. 

“Oh, no, kid, Jim’s fine. He’s just…busy. There’s a lot of paperwork on this case, and he’s also working on several others. Did I tell you about the Quartermain kidnapping? The mayor gave it top priority…”

Okay, so Jim was safe, just not there, and Simon was doing his best to not tell him why. How frustrating was that? Blair just let his eyes drift shut and feigned sleep until the captain’s story eventually faltered and died away, and Banks finally left. If they weren’t going to talk to him, not what he wanted to hear, why should he talk back? Knowing Jim was okay was a relief, but it didn’t set Blair’s mind at ease. Since when didn’t Jim visit him when he was laid up in the hospital? 

Unless he didn’t care anymore what happened to Blair. The thought had thoroughly shaken him for a few minutes, until he remembered again Ellison’s presence earlier, the calming effect of his voice and his touch. There was a reason he trusted Jim Ellison, and he would trust him now, too, even when he didn’t know what was going on and why Jim wasn’t there. 

But there were times Blair sure wished he was. 

They’d been cutting back the medication as he mended, a process Blair thoroughly approved of except for the fact that it made every waking moment miserable and sleep next to impossible. His left side burned and itched and ached until he was nearly crazy with the urge to rub at it, but of course that would only have made it worse. The doctor had recommended distractions to keep his mind off the discomfort, but he hurt too much to read and had quickly tired of Naomi and Simon’s solicitous company, resigning himself to mindless television. But mindless was right, and it only served to underline how trapped Blair was in the hell of hospital and hurting. 

He was halfway through ignoring Oprah when a knock at the door renewed his hope. Naomi was meditating in the corner of the room, Simon wasn’t due until that evening, which left only his missing roommate. “Come in,” Blair called, his voice still quiet from not wanting to strain himself, but the Sentinel would hear him. 

Or…some of his fellow TA’s would. Blair hid his disappointment as four of his friends from Rainier appeared in the doorway instead of one Cascade detective. 

Their obvious dismay at the sight of him didn’t help his mood, even though he played along with their attempts to cheerfully hide it. A few uncertain glances were cast at Naomi, but she seemed oblivious, and so they turned as one toward him. “Hey, Blair, how’re you feeling?” That was Trudy, her usual brightness undimmed even though her eyes were worried. 

“I’m okay,” he lied. “Just sore.” 

“Well, you…you look good.” Nat was an even worse liar than he was. 

“Yeah, man, when we heard what’d happened, we were worried. It’s good to see you…okay.” Tom, for all his aptitude with languages, wasn’t at his eloquent best, either. Which left only Dawn, but she just gave him a wavering smile. If they’d come to cheer him up, they were failing abysmally. 

“So…they say you can go home soon?” Trudy asked.

“A few days, if everything goes okay.” They were all being so stiff, so polite, unlike the easygoing back-and-forth the five of them usually had. Just like with Naomi and Simon. What had changed while he’d been out of it? 

“Are you, uh, going back to the loft then with Ellison?” Nat shifted from one foot to the other.

Blair’s eyes narrowed. They weren’t going to start that again, were they? “That’s my home,” he said evenly, daring them all with his eyes to argue it. 

Nat’s face crumpled, but it was Trudy who answered impassionedly, “Even after what happened this time? Blair, he’s gonna get you killed! Nd where is he now when you’re hurt?” A sweep of the arm indicated a room obviously lacking Jim. “What kind of friend is that?”

Okay, so that last stung, but the rest he could answer and it was high time he did. The very thought of his friends thinking Jim was using or abusing him had gotten old real fast. “What happened wasn’t Jim’s fault,” Blair said, his voice steel. “He’d told me to stay in the car while he checked out something suspicious in an alley. I didn’t listen to him—I was worried about him and I figured it would be enough if I stayed by the car, so I got out and waited for him outside. I guess the guy Jim’d seen got suspicious—he almost ran Jim down getting out of there, didn’t see me, and hit me before either one of us could get out of the way. If I’d have stayed in the truck, I wouldn’t have gotten a scratch.” 

Total silence in the room. Blair wished he could sit up, move himself higher somehow so he wasn’t looking up at his friends, but the button was too far to reach without painful stretching. It left him at a disadvantage when what he was saying was very important. No matter; his voice got harder instead. 

“As for Jim, he called for back-up and then he sat with me until the ambulance came. He held my hand, he put his jacket under my head, he wiped the blood off my face, and then he just sat with me and kept talking so I wouldn’t get scared.” His voice almost wavered from sheer intensity of emotion. That part he could remember, with the clarity of that first surge of adrenaline and fear. The pain hadn’t really hit yet—that wouldn’t be until the ambulance, when he’d nearly crushed Jim’s hand in an effort to keep from screaming—but the fear had choked him just as hard. But Jim could be surprisingly gentle when he was hurt, tending in a way that didn’t cause pain, good at distraction, even better at soothing. He’d whispered and rubbed and stroked away the worst of the fear and then the pain. Maybe being a Sentinel made him more tuned to how to help someone who was hurt and focusing on it. 

Or maybe he was just a really good friend who’d always been there for Blair.

“Yeah, sometimes he’s not the easiest guy in the world to live with. He’s kinda stuck in his ways and, okay, he’s not Mr. Personality. I haven’t always made it easy on him, either. But he has _never_ put me in danger on purpose, he worries about me all the time, and he’s my friend, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m the lucky one here. So…just back off about this, okay?” He was about to lose it—darn the stupid drugs that made him so emotional and well-meaning friends who brought it out of him. 

Muted, unhappy, embarrassed nods. Tom was already edging toward the door. Great. Blair would have to talk to them again later, to try to smooth things over. He hadn’t meant to alienate four friends in defense of another. But they shouldn’t have put him in that position, either, especially not just then, even if they’d meant well. When had everyone decided they knew what was better for him than he did himself? 

But he was just too tired now, tired and smarting, physically and emotionally. He barely reacted to their good-byes, watching with dull eyes as they filed out the door. 

And as Dawn, the last one out, suddenly stopped and turned back to him. 

“I have a best friend, too, Blair. She’s got blue hair and takes me to bars on her motorcycle and my parents think she’s gonna get me killed, but she’s my friend and she’s listened to me and been there for me and saved me more than anyone’ll ever know. Sometimes you can’t explain it, but I think they’ll understand.” She nodded back over her shoulder at the door. 

Blair couldn’t help a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” 

She smiled back, briefly touching his blanketed foot, then turned and followed the others out. 

Blair lay there a long minute, swallowing, settling himself. The speech had taken a lot out of him, more honest than he usually got with friends he actually didn’t really know all that well. But suspicion had bloomed as he’d talked, and he turned his head fractionally to bring Naomi into view, still sitting in lotus position in the corner, her eyes closed. 

“Did you say something to Jim?”

She opened her eyes immediately, not seeming surprised he knew she was no longer meditating. “About what, sweetie?”

“About him putting me in danger? That’s why he hasn’t come, isn’t it?” He was too washed-out to be anything but quiet, even if he was in turmoil inside. 

She stood fluidly, meeting his gaze, then sliding away from it. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened, Blair?”

“With the car?” That surprised him—hadn’t Jim told her? “You didn’t ask. Why, what does that—Oh, you…you thought it was Jim’s fault.” He didn’t even know why he was surprised. Blair was willing to bet Naomi had run into a few of his friends on her way to see him, but there had always been a little resentment in her toward Jim when Blair got hurt. But how long had this been brewing, everyone he knew actually blaming Jim for what happened to him? And how much of it had Jim caught? The conversation with Nat and Tom at Rainier? He’d shown up right after and been awfully quiet, now that Blair thought about it. And Naomi could be scathing when she wanted to. Whatever it was had obviously been enough. He hadn’t seen Jim since. Ellison wasn’t the kind to wallow in misplaced guilt, but pointed half-truths from more than one source would be bound to start him thinking.

“Baby, we were just worried about you. You’ve been hurt so many times since you’ve been working with Jim. I just think it would be better—”

“Mom. What did you say to Jim?”

She pressed her hands together, the picture of innocence. “Well, just that he can’t protect you from everything and you don’t really belong here.”

He doubted that was all, but even that made Blair wince, and he shut his eyes with an aborted sigh. His ribs didn’t care for any deep breaths right then. 

“Blair?” His mom’s voice was soft, and closer. “Did Jim really do all that for you after you got hurt?”

“Yes.” 

A pause. He almost opened his eyes to see her expression, but he was too weary to bother. “I hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings,” she finally said. 

“You didn’t just hurt his feelings. You told him he was hurting someone he cares about and he should go away. How do you think he felt? How would you have felt if someone had said the same thing about you?” He had to catch his breath after that tirade. 

“Me?” She sounded honestly shocked.

He opened his eyes and pinned her with a look. “Remember Mexico City?”

She paled, chewed on her lip. “You blame me for that? I had no way of knowing—”

“I tried to tell you. And how ‘bout Jackson Creek?”

“Blair—” 

He was hurting her, and maybe he’d meant to for a moment, but not really. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, she’d just been too trusting of people they met, and with his childhood, they’d met a lot, good and bad. Blair sighed, shallowly. “Mom, I don’t blame you for any of it. I’m just saying, you both live your lives the way you need to and being part of them has its risks. In some way, it does with everyone. That doesn’t mean I’d want to lose either of you. But this is my choice, Naomi, and I made it. Jim doesn’t have anything left to prove to me.”

She just studied him, smiling sadly, her eyes troubled and proud all at once. It was the way she usually looked when he’d taken some new step in life, from walking by himself to school, to living on his own. But it was the first time he’d seen it when Jim and the Cascade Police were the topic. Blair warmed, something in him relaxing at the sight. 

Things still weren’t settled with Jim, but Blair ached and was too tired to stay awake any longer. His eyes were shutting of their own accord, and he was down to a whisper when he said, “Call Jim.”

A loving hand brushed through his hair. “I will, sweetie. You just sleep.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice.

 

Jim had always known when Blair was nearby, which was only natural for a Sentinel. But when after a while Blair had also started being aware of where Jim was, too, they’d had a talk about partnership’s sixth sense. Apparently it was a survival mechanism on the street, usually developed between close partners. Jim had gone out of his way not to make the obvious inference of what that said about them; he avoided talking about what he called the “touchy-feely stuff” whenever possible. But Blair had been impressed, and more than a little moved, nonetheless. 

Which was why he grinned as he awoke before he’d even opened his eyes to see who was beside his bed. “Hey, Jim.”

“Hey, yourself, Chief. How’re you feeling?”

The voice came from above him, and Blair blinked a few times to clear his fuzzy vision before he focused on Jim standing beside him. The detective didn’t seem surprised to see him—he’d probably been monitoring Blair’s heartbeat again, knowing it as soon as he’d started to wake up. But he also looked nearly as tired as Blair felt, his eyes restless as they kept looking away from him, only to return as if irresistibly drawn. His hands were stuck in his back pockets, a curiously defensive gesture in someone who usually played offense, and hesitance shaded his movements. But his smile was honest and the question sincere. 

“’M all right.” Blair winced and reworded that as shifting on the mattress moved parts of him that didn’t take well to movement yet. “Well, I’m alive. I think.” 

Jim chuckled. “It’s a start. I’m sure you’ll be up harassing the nurses in no time.” 

“What you call harassment, I call technique,” Blair answered with a grin of his own. 

The humor seemed to drain out of them as quickly as it’d come, and Jim reached up to self-consciously scratch his neck with a finger. “Uh, Naomi called—she said you wanted to see me?” 

Blair managed to shift fairly painlessly so he was at least looking directly at his friend. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Where’ve you been, Jim? Simon keeps saying you’re busy doing paperwork, but we both know you leave all that stuff for me to do.”

“And it’s really piling up, Chief, so you better hurry up and get out of here and back to work.” 

Blair gingerly shook his head. He wasn’t going for the dodge. “Look, I talked to Naomi and she said she gave you a hard time about my getting hurt. But…you know it’s not like that, right?”

“Oh, sure, every college student has a hospital file as thick as an eighty year-old’s and goes around looking like he went six rounds with Tyson.” Jim’s answer was acerbic, but not toward him. 

Blair sighed, shutting his eyes as he swallowed. “You heard Nat and Tom.” He aimed a feeble swat at Ellison, barely connecting. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Forgive me if I didn’t want my selfishness rubbed in my face. I’m well aware of it already.” 

His eyes snapped back open to stare at the older man. “Selfishness? Is that what you call this? You think I’ve stuck around because you’ve somehow been forcing me to?”

“I think I’ve made a pretty strong case against you leaving, yeah.” Jim’s tone was getting pugnacious. Good. A hesitant Jim Ellison threw Blair, but a fighting one he could handle. 

“Jim…I know a Sentinel needs a Guide so, yeah, that’s part of the reason I’m still here. But the only thing that’s selfish here is your thinking that’s the only reason I’m staying.” 

The detective ran a hand threw his hair, his gaze ping-ponging around the room, clearly at a loss for what to say. 

Blair jumped back in before Jim grew too uncomfortable. “If you heard what Nat and Tom said, you heard what I said to them, too. I’m happy here, happier than I’ve been for a long time. I’ve got a home, I’ve got two jobs I enjoy, one of which even pays me, and I’m doing the research I love. It even brought me a good friend, probably the best friend I’ve ever had.” It was his turn to do the roaming-eye bit. There was a reason guys didn’t usually talk about this stuff. “Like I told Naomi, this is my choice. But you, man, you’re the one who makes it doable.” 

“Doable.” Heavy with disbelief.

Blair almost snorted. “After Lash, when I felt like I was going crazy, who set up shop in my room so I could sleep? Who talked me through the Golden overdose and the flashbacks after, huh? Jim, every time something’s gone wrong, you’ve been the one to help me make it right again.”

“Sandburg, Lash would never have met you and you wouldn’t have gotten dosed if it weren’t for me in the first place. Even if it was your decision to do this, that doesn’t change the fact you’d be in here a lot less if you didn’t know me.”

“Maybe. What you do isn’t always safe, either, but that’s still your choice and this is mine. And there’ve been a lot of times when it hasn’t been about you or your job. Like the other night.” 

“You were with me…” Jim began to murmur in protest.

“And I’d have been fine if I’d have stayed in the truck like you told me to.” 

Jim’s mouth twitched. “Does this mean you’re going to listen to me from now on?” 

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Figures.” 

There was a long stretch of silence, the two of them assessing each other, the room, the world outside the window. Fall seemed to have set in with a vengeance, patches of frost shining on the window glass. Blair bit down a shiver.

And jerked his eyes back to Jim as the Sentinel awkwardly pulled Blair’s blanket higher, looking uncomfortable as he did it. He’d known. Not because he was a Sentinel, either. 

They were such idiots, Blair suddenly realized. Here they were debating the merits of his leaving or staying, when both of them already knew the right answer. Maybe not even consciously, but it was as instinctual as the Sentinel looking out for his Guide. And the Guide for his Sentinel. 

“So…you’re saying you’re still ‘having fun’?” Jim finally ventured. 

Back to Nat and Tom, darn them. Blair wished he and Jim had cleared this air a week before. “Hey, aren’t you the one usually telling me to get serious?” he asked with a smile. No return smile. He sobered most of the way. “If you mean, am I the same person I was three years ago, the answer’s no. But c’mon, Jim, who is? Don’t let me fool you, things weren’t so yippee-wonderful then, no matter what it looked like. Change can be good. This is the real thing now, no contest.” 

Jim was rubbing his neck again. “And you know that if I’m…unpleasant sometimes, it’s nothing personal.”

It felt like they were setting ground rules again. Blair softened. Had Jim really been this rattled because of a few well-meaning people who hadn’t known what they were talking about? If only they could have seen Jim Ellison at that moment. “You think I haven’t figured that out by now?” he teased ever so gently.

“You’d tell me if you wanted out?”

“Only if you would, too.” 

Jim scowled at him, his thoughts on that very clear. 

“Yeah, well, I feel the same way,” Blair answered softly, meaningfully. 

That was what did it. It was hard to argue what you yourself felt. Jim stared hard at him for a long moment, then, just like that, the lines of his face smoothed, his shoulders growing less hunched, his gaze no longer bouncing around. The knot that had been there longer than Blair had realized untied itself in his stomach, too, and he relaxed back into the mattress. The tension was going out of the room like a deflating balloon, and the silence between them was comfortable again. It felt good. 

No, more than that. It felt right. 

Jim finally stirred, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Naomi said they change bandages at two.” 

Blair winced. “Don’t remind me.” 

Calm blue eyes studied him. “That bad, huh?”

“On a scale of one to ten, it’s about a minus thirteen.” 

“You mind if I stay?” Jim was already taking a seat. He hadn’t even needed to look around for the chair. Blair wondered how long he’d been there waiting for Blair to wake up, that morning and before Naomi had arrived. 

“Would you think I was a wuss if I said I’d be glad if you did?”

“Yes.” Jim grinned at him. He had pulled out a newspaper from a jacket pocket and opened it now to read, but cast an occasional glance at the bed. He was sitting close, too, close enough to reach…

…and Blair had a flash of Jim Ellison massaging his hand, soothing and distracting him when the pain had grown unbearable. 

And Jim had thought _he_ was the one being selfish? 

His friends from school and Naomi hadn’t been all wrong, after all. Jim did have influence over him, quite a lot.

Blair only wished the others were as lucky. 

The End


End file.
